


say a prayer for the broken bones

by boeser



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boeser/pseuds/boeser
Summary: Nate finds Alex’s drunk self amusing; he doesn’t contract his words and his accent gets thicker. His cheeks are so red they look like they’re going to burst. He loves his friends, he loves his life, and this is-- he stiffens.He looks around at the dimly lit hotel room, and he’s overcome by the phantom pain in his wrist.





	say a prayer for the broken bones

**Author's Note:**

> title from emily dickinson poem im p sure. 
> 
> if you or anyone you know is in this please dont read lol

The first time it happens, Nate is ten years old.

Maddie is eight, which means she’s annoying, and she’s chasing Nate around the house with her boogers. Nate is screaming because Maddie’s gross, Maddie is screaming because she loves to terrorize Nate, and their dog Robert is barking because Robert loves to bark. 

Nate wore his favorite Nikes, and Maddie didn’t even let him take his socks off before launching her attack. Nate is doing his best to have some sort of grip on the floor, but he makes a turn into the kitchen, slips, and goes sliding towards the cabinet beneath the sink. He closes his eyes and braces for the impact, for the crack of his wrist, but when he opens his eyes, he’s walking through the door again. He blinks, shakes his head, and looks down.

He’s wearing different shoes.

*

He doesn’t think much of it. Magic is something Nate doesn’t concern himself with. It’s cool and all, but it’s not necessarily right. Altering the outcome of life for your own benefit is selfish-- it’s cheating. 

There’s an old movie where a guy has the power to make as many universes as he wants, but the catch is that he has a nosebleed whenever he makes a new one. He falls in love with a girl, but she dies in a car accident, so he spends his life trying to find a universe where she doesn’t. He makes hundreds and hundreds of them, bleeding and bleeding, until he realizes that there are some things magic just can’t change. The untouchables, they call it. He makes one last universe, and holds her in his arms as they both bleed out. 

Nate knows it’s dramatic, but magic doesn’t come without a price.

He falls asleep easily, the walls of his room bluer than he remembers.

*

Sometimes, Nate feels like he’s being watched. It’s a dumb feeling to have, especially when you’re a sixteen year old boy from Kitchener, but it doesn’t shake the feeling. 

He gets drafted in the seventh round, one hundred and twenty seventh overall to the Mississauga Steelheads and thinks: this is where I’m supposed to be.

*

He meets Mikey on the first day of preseason. Mikey is kind of scrawny with floppy blonde hair, more shy than Nate normally prefers, He’s a little weird, in the sense that he doesn’t like changing in front of people, but it doesn’t really matter; he laughs at Nate’s jokes and listens to One Direction unironically. 

“My favorite is Harry,” Mikey tells him one day while they’re stretching on the ice. Mikey is a soft speaker, so Nate has to lean in closer to hear what he’s saying. 

Nate furrows his eyebrows. “Harry? That’s so basic, Niall is a dime.”

“That’s pretty homo of you,” Mikey comments.

And, well, Mikey isn’t wrong. Nate flushes, Mikey laughs. This is where he’s supposed to be.

*

Mikey likes to put his feet on everything. On the dashboard of Nate’s car, on his kitchen island, on his desk. He even tried to use Robert as foot stool, once. Nate hates feet, likes his covered in socks at all times.

But he lets Mikey lock their ankles together when they’re watching TV in a hotel room. It’s a start.

*

Their passes aren’t clicking. The whole team is a shit show, and it’s no surprise they’re down 3-0. Nate feels too hot, too suffocated, too him. 

All game, he’s tempted to look over his shoulder. He knows that people’s eyes are on him, he’s playing a hockey game for crying out loud, yet it still feels like someone’s right behind him, their steps falling right into his. #13 from Barrie comes barreling towards him, and Nate sucks in a breath as he’s slammed into the boards.

When he opens his eyes, the final score is 4-3. Mikey has a hattrick and Nate has all of the assists. Nate is dry mouthed as he skates down the handshake line.

Mikey pats him on the back, but his smile is pinched. 

Well, that doesn’t feel right either.

*

Somewhere in Canada, a team loses 3-0.

*

Nate accidentally catches Mikey’s eye with the butt of his stick during practice, and knows from the way that Mikey staggers backwards that it isn’t pretty. Mikey’s hands instantly fly up to cover his face, and Nate winces.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Nate reaches out to assess the damage, but Mikey turns away.

“No, I’m good-- you’re good, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Nate asks, watching Mikey. He hasn’t moved his hands. “You look pretty banged up.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I’m just gonna ice it.” Mikey walks past Nate to open the door to the tunnel. He takes one hand from his face to push open the door and-- Nate blinks.

There is a speck of gold on the door.

*

Nate meets a girl the next season. Her name is Charlotte, and she’s the type of girl boys like Nate are supposed to fall in love with. Her hair spills onto her back, her smile is sweet, her touch is soft. He doesn’t know why he keeps second guessing himself with her. 

They’re at a get together at Mikey’s house, because he’s one of the few people on the team that doesn’t have to billet. Charlotte brings a bunch of her friends, all blonde and skinny and doe eyed. 

She leans into him, empty red solo cup in her hand. She whispers, “Guess what I can do?”

It’s kind of cute, and the corners of Nate’s lips quirk. 

“What?”

She bites her lip, smiling. Nate watches as the cup fills itself up, and he can’t move. 

“Tada!” She sing songs. She lifts the cup towards Nate’s mouth. “You wanna sip? It tastes just like real kind.”

Nate doesn’t think as he slaps the cup out of her hand, staining her white shirt. He doesn’t think as he runs out of the house, not knowing where he’s going. He doesn’t think as he ignores Mikey’s calls. He doesn’t think. 

He ends up at a park about twenty minutes away and comes to terms with the fact that Charlotte is magic. She is a thousand universes, she is a filled cup, she is a girl that isn’t supposed to be there. Nate assures himself that that’s why things felt so off with her. 

His phone lights up the dark; he has new messages.

Charlotte: are you okay? i didnt mean to freak you out  
Charlotte: i only showed you because i sensed it on you  
Charlotte: can we talk?

He blocks her number.

*

Mikey doesn’t bring up Nate’s disappearing act. Nate doesn’t bring up the hickeys littering Mikey’s collarbone, and how it juxtaposes the cross necklace that hangs from his neck. It’s a compromise. They’re about to trek on a four game road trip, and they don’t need to start on the wrong foot.

“Did you know that pennies actually take 2 cents to make?” Mikey says, stealing the bacon off of Nate’s plate. Nate doesn’t eat pork, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. McLeod that.

“Did you know that I never asked?” Nate shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Mikey colors, kicking Nate’s foot from underneath the table.

Nate has the urge to look over his shoulder, but in reverse. Like he needs to be staring in front of him, at Mikey, which is weird because it’s... Mikey. The feeling is itching at him, but in a good way, if that even makes sense. It feels like a lullaby instead of a ticking bomb, and he leans into it with his eyes wide open.

*

Nate is walking through the grocery store with Maddie to buy dog food, when he’s jostled from behind.

“Oh, sorry-”

“No, it’s okay-”

“No, seriously-” The boy stops abruptly mid sentence, and blinks. “Jesus, I almost didn’t recognize you.” Nate must stare blankly, because the boy rolls his eyes and continues with, “It’s me, Liam, from like, grade four.”

Oh. Liam was his old neighbor when they were younger, and they were even in the same math class at one point. He looks pretty much the same, and Nate doesn’t know how he didn’t realize it was him sooner.

Maddie is the one that asks, “What happened to your wrist?”

“Oh, this?” He lifts up his cast. “I broke it when I was like, ten, and it never healed properly, so the doctors rebroke it so it could. Heal properly, I mean.”

“Cool,” Maddie comments, chewing her gum obnoxiously. She crosses her arms over her chest, taps her foot against the floor.

“Okay,” Nate says, dragging the word out. “I guess I’ll see you around, now that you’re back.”

Liam’s smile is nice and pretty, and his hair is darker than Nate remembers. 

*

It’s their draft year and Nate is racking up more points than he knows what to do with. All of his passes are perfect, all of his goals are beauties, and everything feels good. Except for Mikey, who should be happy for him, but he can’t stand to look at Nate off of the ice. The scouts talk about them like they’re extensions of each other.

Nate bumps his shoulder into Mikey’s and thinks, maybe. Mikey pulls away, and Nate thinks, maybe not.

*

Nate doesn’t want to be rude, but Mikey looks awful throughout the playoffs. He has lost weight, he’s sluggish, he’s quiet. Nate doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so tired.

*

The days go by quickly. Nate goes to sleep in a room that isn’t his, white walls and wooden dressers, and dreams of the sky. He sees a broken wing, a hunched back-- he dreams of gold rain. Tick, tick, tick.

*

The bus ride to North Bay is a little over three hours long, and they’re bus buddies per usual. Nate is sharing his headphones with Mikey, and they listen to Nate’s sad playlist. Nate doesn’t know why Mikey picked it. He is about to doze off, when he feels Mikey shake him.

“Hey,” Mikey starts. “Hey, Nater.”

“Huh?”

“What happened to Charlotte?”

“What do you mean?” Nate rests his head on Mikey’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Charlotte. Your ex-something. What happened to her.”

A dark hallway. An empty cup. A thousand universes. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks.

“Positive.”

“I liked her,” Mikey says off handedly. “She was cute.”

“She smelled like paint fumes.”

Nate can feel Mikey glare at him. “You are a disgusting liar, but whatever.”

“And you let me get away with it.”

It’s silent for a few moments, so Nate looks up at Mikey. He’s staring down at Nate, his eyelashes casting a shadow on his cheekbones.

The smile that curls onto his lips is bitter. His eyes flit away. 

“I let you get away with a lot of things.”

*

They crash out of the OHL finals in game seven of the second round to the fucking Barrie Colts. It stings way more than Nate ever thought it would. Mikey, meanwhile, is full out sobbing in the team huddle. Nate tries to bump helmets with him, a silent way to ask if he’s okay, but Mikey instantly recoils.

“Just-- don’t,” is all Mikey says, before he heads towards the bench.

*

Nate: Hey have u spoken to mikey?

Alex: I’m with him right now.

Nate: Oh. Tell him I say he should go fuck himself

Alex: Ok. Will do.  
Alex: He says thank you.

Nate: Stop typing like that it makes me anxious  
Nate: Tell him to return my calls too

Alex: Goodnight Nater.

*

It isn’t hard to get inside the McLeod household. Their front door is always unlocked, which would be dangerous if they weren’t from Mississauga. Nate lets himself in, and starts towards Mikey’s room. They haven’t talked since their last game, and Nate thinks he’s given Mikey enough time to lick his wounds. They still have the draft next week, and Nate is buzzing in his skin.

“Clouder!” Nate calls. No response. “Mikey!”

There isn’t anyone home besides Mikey, and Nate knows Mikey’s home because he saw Mikey’s fitbit on the kitchen table. Mikey is a fucking weirdo, who still uses actively uses a fitbit and doesn’t leave the house without it. 

Nate walks up the stairs, and can hear nondescript music playing from Mikey’s room. Something slow and soothing. Mikey’s room is the first door on the left, so Nate makes a turn, and opens the door. He sees Mikey bent over, rummaging through his dresser.

It’s the first time he’s seen Mikey shirtless.

It’s the first time he’s seen two sharp, parallel scars running down the expanse of his back.

“Um,” Nate stammers. “Am I going crazy?”

Mikey whips around at the sound of Nate’s voice. He sounds accusatory when he says, “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“You aren’t supposed to have a back like that.”

Mikey rolls his eyes, pulling on a Leafs shirsey and turns off the music. “It’s from surgery.”

“When the fuck did you have surgery?” Nate finally crosses the threshold into Mikey’s room, but the air is thinner than in the hallway. He guesses Mikey got rid of the Bible that used to sit on his nightstand. Nate doesn’t remember the last time Mikey went to church; he thinks it was before the game against Sudbury.

Mikey ponders the question. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You’ve been really weird lately.” Nate sits on Mikey’s bed, and sinks into it. It’s more comfortable than his own.

“I’m going through some stuff,” Mikey says, and Nate gives him a blank look. 

“Some stuff? That could be like, kidney failure. Oh my God, are you dying?”

Mikey throws the closest thing to him at Nate, which happens to be a sweet and sour sauce from McDonald’s. “I’m not dying Nate, Jesus Christ.”

“Then what’s up with you?” Nate asks as Mikey flops onto the bed, next to him. Nate has curfew in twenty minutes, but he already cleared it with his billets to stay over at Mikey’s. 

Mikey places his head on a pillow, blinking up at Nate. “Nothing. Seriously. I’m just thinking about the draft, is all.”

“Don’t you worry a single hair on that head of yours, beautiful. I’m sure you’ll get drafted.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Not that, what is wrong with you. I meant, like, us. I always thought we’d get drafted to the same team, but I just… I don’t know anymore.”

Nate’s never really thought about that; he likes to live in the moment. Worrying about the future makes you forget what’s in front of you. Nate looks at Mikey, sleepy eyed and rosy cheeked, and he knows he wants to remember this. 

“I mean, friends usually get separated by the draft, so that’s normal, I guess. But we’ll still be buddies, you know? The best of ‘em. I’ll even pinky promise.” Nate holds his pinky out for Mikey, and he expects to be swatted away, but Mikey wraps his around Nate’s without batting an eye.

“Pinky promise,” Mikey echoes, and Nate knows he means it. 

*

Nate isn’t that religious. He goes to mass on Easter, sometimes, but that’s about it. But Nate knows that there’s something holy about the steady rise and fall of Mikey’s chest as he sleeps, something heavenly about the way the early morning sunlight washes over him. 

He learned about Holy Michael the Archangel in Sunday School, how Michael lead heaven’s forces to war against the powers of hell. He learned about his role in death, too. How Michael carried the deceased’s souls to heaven. 

Mikey lets out a soft, barely audible noise and wraps his foot around Nate’s ankle. Nate freezes and-- he can’t breathe. It really stuns him, then, how much he would do to keep this. To keep this butterfly ridden stomach, to keep Mikey’s arm on the small of his back. A thousand universes, he thinks.

Nate is not falling in love. He’s drowning in it.

*

The car ride to the airport is quiet, so Nate says, “Here, you should make a twitter before the draft, so you’ll be verified.”

Mikey raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?

“Meh, meh, I’m Mikey and I like to question Nate on absolutely everything,” Nate mocks.

“You are so annoying.” Mikey kicks Nate, and Nate revels in it. “Just make it for me.”

“Fine,” Nate concedes. He sets up the account, makes the bio and everything. He glances up, about to ask Mikey if he approves, when he catches Mikey’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Mikey’s staring. “What?”

The smile that curls onto his lips is bitter. His eyes flit away. “Nothing.”

*

The draft comes quicker than Nate had anticipated. 

Mikey is drafted twelfth overall, to the New Jersey Devils. Nate is drafted thirtieth overall, to the Anaheim Ducks.

He walks onto the stage, cameras flashing. The gold on his jersey is blinding. 

Tick, tick, tick.

*

Nate thinks about Charlotte during the ride back to the hotel; he thinks about that red solo cup. He thinks about her blonde hair and blue eyes, about the slope of her nose. He thinks about how, if he concentrates hard enough, she kind of looks like Mikey. 

*

Nate doesn’t like beer, but it’s the only thing they can sneak into their hotel rooms. He’s with Alex, Duber, Mikey and a bunch of CHL kids that Nate knows vaguely. He went out to eat with his and Mikey’s family, and now the first rounders are celebrating with cheap alcohol.

“You were crazy this season,” Alex says. “I know I did not know you before, you were fucking crazy this year. It was like, one second you are a good power forward, and then the next second you finish the season with, like, eighty points. Like, that is so… what’s the word?”

“Crazy?” Nate supplies.

“Yes, crazy!” Alex’s smile is bright. Nate finds Alex’s drunk self amusing; he doesn’t contract his words and his accent gets thicker. His cheeks are so red they look like they’re going to burst. He loves his friends, he loves his life, and this is-- he stiffens. 

He looks around at the dimly lit hotel room, and he’s overcome by the phantom pain in his wrist.

*

He finds Mikey crying in a stairwell, which is pretty jarring in itself.

The fact that Mikey’s crying tears of gold is something else, too.

Nate is too drunk to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, so he starts with: “Well, that’s new.”

Mikey looks up, blue eyes bright under the fluorescent lighting, and wipes the tears on his face, smearing it across his cheeks. It glimmers on his cheekbones.

“It only happens when I’m like, super upset,” Mikey says, as if that explains everything. Nate simply nods, mostly to calm Mikey down. He seems pretty distressed, and Nate doesn’t want to add to it by freaking out. He doesn’t know why Mikey’s crying though; his life is great. He was drafted top fifteen, he’s destined to make the NHL, and he’s been to two One Direction concerts.

Nate sits on the step next to Mikey and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? You seemed fine earlier.”

“I haven’t been fine for months,” Mikey snaps, which is. Okay then.

The gold isn’t there anymore, mostly; Nate guesses it was absorbed into Mikey’s skin. There are still spots on his brow bone. Mikey is kind of glowing, so Nate thinks that hypothesis is understandable.

“You don’t see it. How can’t you see it?” His voice cracks. “You’re fucking ruining everything, and I have to let you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think everything in your life just happened to work your way? You did it. You ruined it all.” 

Nate doesn’t really understand how he can ruin everything if everything works his way, but his reflexes are too slow to come up with a comeback. Instead, he thinks of Charlotte again and that fucking cup. He thinks of the message he’s worked so hard to forget.

I only showed it because I sensed it on you.

Nate doesn’t want to be magic; he doesn’t want to have the ability to tear himself apart for someone, because he would do it. He would bleed and bleed and bleed and bleed for Mikey if he had to. It’s cheating, but it’s love.

“You-- you were supposed to be drafted to the Devils with me. But because you were insanely good this year, you got picked higher than you should’ve, all the way across the fucking country in Anaheim. Anaheim, Nate. And it’s like, I was supposed to stop you, and I couldn’t because even though you ruined everything, you looked great doing it. “

Nate doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s staring at the white wall in front of him.

Tick, tick, tick.

“What do you mean you let me?”

“Fuck, this sounds so stupid.”

“Just say it,” Nate says, and it comes out sharper than he intends.

Mikey swallows. “It’s not really known, I guess, but I’m sort of… I mean, in simpler terms, I’m your guardian angel. I’m supposed to regulate your magic, make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, that type of stuff.”

“I didn’t even know I had magic.”

Mikey glares. “Well, you do. And you use it pretty fucking often.”

“Does Charlotte have a guardian angel?” Nate asks, and Mikey rolls his eyes. Nate doesn’t understand why Mikey is so exasperated with him; it’s a perfectly reasonable question.

“No, Jesus, why would she? All she can do is refill drinks. You can change the future.”

Nate sucks in a breath. He doesn’t know he’s shaking until Mikey touches his arm, stilling him. The ticking only gets louder, the gold only shines brighter, and Nate can feel his heartbeat in his ears; it reminds him how mortal this love is.

“I mean, not really. You can only change things that will affect other things, if that even makes sense, but you don’t exactly get rid of that thing happening; you just put it on other another person,” Mikey rambles. He runs a hand through his hair. “Like, you being better than you’re supposed to be made someone in the OHL worse. That’s how it works.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Yes.”

“Your back.” Nate begins. “Are those your wings?”

“They were.”

“You… lost them?” Mikey nods. “How?”

The smile that curls onto his lips is bitter. His eyes flit away. “I fell in love.”

*

Nate tries to go to sleep in a bed that isn’t his, with white walls and wooden dressers, and he lays awake all night. Mikey is curled into him, hands shoved beneath Nate’s shirt. He can feel Mikey’s fingertips on his ribcage, and it anchors him. Or it anchors Mikey to him. The archangel had a third job, Nate remembers. He balanced the scales. 

He thinks about the past season-- about Mikey’s crypticness. Nate knows now, why Mikey was so tired during the playoffs. He was trying to give Nate everything he ever wanted, and it was bleeding him dry. Nate might as well have plucked off every feather one by one, taken him apart bone by bone, because that’s what he essentially did. Nate doesn’t know how he can sleep in the same bed as Mikey and pretend that what he did isn’t selfish.

Mikey should’ve told him. Mikey should’ve trusted him. Mikey should’ve loved him enough to know that he didn’t need to be drafted nearly three thousand miles away. 

He tosses and turns, waking up Mikey, who blinks at him sleepily.

“You ‘kay?” Mikey mumbles. 

“Is there any way to change the past?” Nate asks, even though he knows Mikey isn’t fully awake.

“No going back,” Mikey says. “Only the future.”

“If you knew I would ruin it, why did you let me?”

“Told you ‘ready, you were so happy. It’s good on you.”

Nate was standing on the top of the world, and Mikey was looking for the perfect universe. And Nate doesn’t need thousands of universes-- he just wants this one, right here. Mikey bled and bled and bled and bled and lost his wings. Nate took and took and took and took and got drafted higher and farther than he was supposed to be.

“What happens now?” 

“You’re the one that can change the future,” Mikey says, and Nate can feel the words on his neck. 

He can feel the imprint of Mikey’s cross on his shoulder. 

It startles him. It’s someone saying: look what you did to him. You made him a mangled thing, a flightless bird, and you will love him anyway. 

I will, Nate promises, and he means it.

*

The plane ride back is quiet; the ticking sound is gone. In its place is the sound of Mikey’s breaths. In, out, in out. Mikey’s an angel, Nate thinks. He looks at the scar on Mikey’s brow bone.

A fallen one, Nate reminds himself. But an angel nonetheless.

*

Mikey loves him so much, he gave up Heaven. He gave up the sky, the clouds, his God. Nate is overwhelmed by that-- he had never expected anyone to give him so much while giving up the same amount. 

“I’m trying so hard and I just can’t-”

“It’s okay,” Mikey assures. “We’ll be okay.”

“It’s been months and I’m still going to Anaheim.”

“It doesn’t work when you try so hard, it just, happens, sometimes because you want it in the moment,” Mikey explains. “I think this is one of those things you can’t change, though. You wanted to be better, and you’re better. But because you’re better, you got drafted to Anaheim. You can’t change that, because that messes up what got you there in the first place.”

Nate feels hot, too suffocated, too him. Mikey places his hand over Nate’s, and he relaxes. It’s almost a pavlov response, at this point.

“Nate, seriously, we’ll be fine. Friends get drafted to different teams, remember?”

Nate scoffs, leaning back onto the couch. Nate’s parents are at work, and Maddie is at a friend’s house. It’s just them, sitting in Nate’s living room, their voices echoing off the walls.

“You know we’re not just friends.”

Mikey flushes. “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t change that we’ll be fine. We promised each other.”

And Nate can’t exactly argue with that. He laces his fingers with Mikey, and spits onto his other hand.

“Spit brothers?”

“I don’t wanna be your brother.”

“You know that’s not--”

“I was joking! Jesus, yes, spit brothers.” Mikey spits into his hand, and instead of shaking Nate’s like he’s supposed to, he rubs his hand down Nate’s face. Nate’s screaming because Mikey’s gross, Mikey is screaming because he loves to terrorize Nate, and Robert is barking because Robert loves to bark.

Mikey pushes Nate down onto his back, his laughter ringing through the air. 

And when their lips touch for the first time, Nate swears he can hear the choir sing.

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> thx 4 reading it if u made it this far . also pls comment comments mean a lot to me


End file.
